


Bonding for Amnesiacs

by Nymphadora23



Category: Deadpool (Comics), Marvel (Comics), Marvel 616
Genre: Amnesia, Bonding, Canon-Typical Violence, Gen, Generic Goons, Other Additional Tags to Be Added, Spoilers for Deadpool 2013, Spoilers for Taskmaster 2010, Taskmaster needs a break, Taskmaster/Deadpool if you squint, Wade tries his best
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2018-11-27
Updated: 2018-11-27
Packaged: 2019-09-01 09:57:00
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,877
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16762849
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Nymphadora23/pseuds/Nymphadora23
Summary: Luckily for Taskmaster’s patience, the man relented. That expressionless look was gone too, he noticed. Instead, the man was grinning at him, but not maliciously. Looks like he got over shock quickly. That was… Probably a good thing, right?“Then it looks like I’m the one in charge of reminding you of your past!” The man chirped, slinging an arm around his shoulder and pulling him into a side hug.No, his instincts told him. That wasn’t a good thing.





	Bonding for Amnesiacs

**Author's Note:**

> First Marvel story, so please be gentle.
> 
> Sometime after the 2010 Taskmaster mini-series, there was a panel where Taskmaster confirmed that Deadpool is someone he will always remember, no matter how much he forgets. Considering Deadpool's own canonical memory issues, I decided to explore how that came to be. 
> 
> I haven't totally decided what I want to do with this yet, but there will probably be at least a couple more chapters. I also haven't decided if it's going to be a ship thing or not, so I'll leave it undetermined for now and we'll see how the ball rolls.
> 
> Takes place sometime after Deadpool 2013's The Good, The Bad and The Ugly arc and before Deadpool 2016, so Wade's life hasn't gone up shit's creek quite yet.

There were a few things that he was aware of at that moment. 

To start, he was standing in a large room that was half on fire. The fire was loud, but not loud enough that he couldn’t hear the sounds of pained screams and gunfire coming from somewhere across the room. 

Secondly, he was standing in the middle of about 20 unconscious bodies, all in the same brightly coloured uniforms. He wasn’t sure if they were alive, but considering the state of some of their wounds, he doubted they were. There was a particularly large one directly in front of him, inhumanly muscled and dressed in a differently coloured bright uniform. If he had to guess, he’d say it was the leader.

Finally, he had no idea who he was. 

In fact, he couldn’t really remember _anything._ He had no idea where he was, who these people were, why there was a fire, and, more importantly, what the hell he was doing here. His earliest memory was the present moment, which really didn’t help him with the situation at hand. 

Well, he didn’t really need to know all the history behind this encounter to realize that standing around like a slack-jawed moron wasn’t the brightest idea. Thick smoke was hanging heavy in the room, choking the breath out of him and hindering his vision. Staying would surely mean his death. There would be time for identity questions later.

There was something else nagging at the back of his mind, newly discovered instincts helpfully reminding him that he was missing something; not just every fact about himself. Something important, something bad. He chose to ignore it as he turned for the closest exit. There were more important things to worry about than a vague sense of creeping dread.

Had he chosen to listen, he may have remembered the presence of gunfire that wasn’t aimed at or fired by him. He may have also noticed that the source of that gunfire had been growing steadily closer to him ever since he had first realized his lack of memories. In hindsight, it was sloppy work.

Before he could take three steps towards the exit, the source of his instincts came barreling out of the smoke in all sorts of chaotic glory. It was another man, clad in a red and black bodysuit and a mask. He was wielding an expensive and fancy looking machine gun, but there were about a dozen other weapons that he could see strapped to various parts of his body. 

Even though the man was wearing a full face mask, he got the sense that there was a wild gleam in his eyes as he caught sight of him.

“Tasky! What are you doing just standing there? I thought you loved eviscerating idiots!” 

His instincts were back, louder now, repeating a steady mantra of _get out._ This time, he listened. 

The red and black man called angrily after him as he took off down a narrow hall, but luckily he didn’t follow. Judging by the sounds of resumed gunfire and loud curses, he guessed that wasn’t by choice. 

Despite not remembering ever stepping foot in this building, he navigated the maze-like hallways with a surprising ease. It seems like his instincts had a better hold of the situation than he had, leaving his mind to ponder the absurdity of his situation. He may not know much right now, but he had enough wherewithal to know that none of this was even close to the realm of “normal”.

And yet… The man had called him by a name. Sure, he didn’t know how credible the source was, but it was something to go off of. He turned it over in his mind a few times, feeling every inch, and it felt right. Juvenile and worthy of annoyance, but familiar. Something was starting to make sense in the fog of his muddled memories.

Soon enough he was stumbling out from the half-burned building, coughing out smoke so he could breathe in the clear night air. Even still, he didn’t stop running. There was still that image of the costumed man, wild and dangerous and _angry_ to contend with, and he knew that if he wanted him badly enough, he would be hot on his heels. 

A hill, several thick bushes and a few meters of trees later he finally stopped, hands on his knees as he caught his breath. In his few moments of vulnerability, no one came out from the dark to shoot him in the back. Whoever that man was, it didn’t seem like he had followed him. 

As he got his bearings and re-assessed the situation, it became clear that he hadn’t felt a single iota of fear since he became aware of his predicament. Even when he was fleeing from that man, it wasn’t because he was afraid. His instincts had told him he wasn’t prepared. It felt almost strange to him; shouldn’t you be afraid when you’re in that kind of situation? Maybe this was normal after all.

But that fiasco was over now, and there were more pressing concerns to address. He still had no idea who he was, and now he was even more hopelessly lost than he was at the start. Running headlong into the wilderness probably hadn’t been his smartest idea, especially when he was (as he was just now realizing) weighed down with gear as he was.

Catching his reflection in a nearby stream, he his own odd choice of attire. He was dressed in a white, hooded cloak that was covered in soot, blood, and who knew what else. Then there was his dented body armor, thick white gloves, and holsters galore. Not only that, but apparently he had chosen to hide his face with a full skull mask, leaving only his eyes visible.

Huh, so that man hadn’t been the only costumed weirdo running around. Fancy that.

Alright, it was time to be serious. His instincts had gotten him this far, so it seemed only natural to figure out what they were telling him to do now. He closed his eyes and allowed his mind to tune into his body.

Before he really knew what he was doing, he was digging a simple phone out of his pocket. It was a flip phone, nothing special, and likely contained nothing noteworthy about himself. His fingers didn’t seem to care about that as they punched in a phone number he didn’t realize he knew.

As his thumb hovered over the call button, he tried to imagine who might be waiting on the other end. Was it a friend? Family? Whoever it was, he had the feeling that they would make everything okay. Maybe this wouldn’t disappear, but he would be supported. Directed.

He didn’t get a chance to hit call before the hairs on the back of his neck stood up. There was someone watching him, he could feel it. 

He kept the phone gripped in his left hand while his right rested on the butt of a holstered pistol, slowing his breathing as he focused on the sounds around him. When he didn’t hear anything, he began to slowly turn on the spot, probing the darkness for his hidden assailant. 

When he turned back around, he came face to face with the red and black man from before, standing far too close for comfort and giving him a little wave of all things. 

He staggered back, body dipping into a defensive and aiming the gun at the man before his mind finished processing being found. The man, for his part, looked pretty much unfazed. He lazily raised his arms, as if surrendering, and he got the sense that the man was smiling under that mask.

“Sorry!” The man said in a tone that implied he was everything but, rocking back on the heels of his boots. “I didn’t mean to sneak up on you like that, but I didn’t want you runnin’ away on me again.” And here he paused, crossing his arms and looking irritated. “Thanks for that, by the way. I had to handle the clean up all by my lonesome, and you know that’s normally your job!”

The way he saw it, he had two options. First, fight this guy somehow, hoping that he not only had some combat stored in his muscle memory, but that his skills were good enough to defeat him. He had some weapons on him, that much was obvious, so he must have something in the way of fighting skills. But this guy was pretty heavily armed too, and he didn’t look all that winded despite having several wounds that were oozing blood.

Second? He talks convincingly enough until the guy left him alone. Clearly, they knew each other, and it didn’t seem like this dude obviously wanted him dead. Considering his other option, what was the worst that could happen? They fight? 

He drew in a breath, glad that the mask was enough to hide how shell shocked he must have looked, and decided things couldn’t get any worse.

“You think I was going to stay in that death trap? Unlike some people, I don’t have a death wish.” He scoffed, speaking with more confidence than he knew he had at that moment. He folded his arms too, more on instinct than anything, and shook his head at the red and black man. “They were dead anyway. No need to risk my skin taking care of a few loose ends.”

The other man paused for a moment or two, tilting his head as if to consider this. Then he was huffing out a laugh, tension seeping out of his shoulders. He felt his own tension ease too, a little disbelieving at himself. Had he seriously convinced this guy?

“Y’know, you had me going there for a sec.” The man continued, leaning back against a tree in the picture of casualness. He let out a quiet breath, mindful his posture didn’t belie his relief. 

As he looked at the man’s mask, he was struck with a sudden realization. The eyes of the man’s mask weren’t just a membrane film covering his real eyes, they were his eyes. He felt something cold slide down his chest as he watched those eyes crinkle a little, gleaming with something wicked. 

“Buuut… There’s a couple things about your story that bug me. Just a bit.” The man held up his hand, miming a pinching motion as if to prove his point. He moved off the tree then, approaching him with calm determination. “The Taskmaster I know would never leave a loose end, not unless the circumstances were enough that he’d be 100% sure that he was more likely to die or go to jail.”

Well, at least he had a full name now. Taskmaster didn’t move, even as the other man leaned directly into his breathing space. They held an unsteady silence for a couple of beats; the man daring him to challenge him, Taskmaster waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Then the gleam in his eyes was gone, replaced with what he could have sworn was a confused sense of concern. “You look like Taskmaster, you smell like Taskmaster, and you speak like Taskmaster. I know we weren’t up against anything unusual, so unless one of the guys had a Taskmaster boner, I’m pretty sure you’re Taskmaster.” The man finally leaned back, hands on his hips as he studied him. “So, what gives?”

There was no way out of this now, he knew that for certain. Even if he got into a punch-up with this guy, clearly he knew how to track him down without making a sound. Not to mention how hopelessly lost he was, or how he wouldn’t know where to go once he got to civilization. Did he even have a home? He closed his eyes, admitting defeat. 

Taskmaster raised his head and spoke in a clear, calm voice. “I don’t remember anything.”

The man paused, clearly not expecting that kind of answer, but Taskmaster could tell there was something more to it. His mask, which had seemed so expressive for covering the majority of his face, had gone slack and impassive. He saw the mouth open under the mask, then shut as he seemed to think better of it. Taskmaster supposed it was a natural reaction, especially if they happened to be close.

It was a while before the masked man seemed to find his words, sounding almost hesitant as he spoke. “Nothing? Like, nothing nothing?” 

“Nothing.” 

“No childhood?”

“No.”

“Parents?”

“No.”

“Teenage romances?”

“What part of ‘nothing’ aren’t you getting?”

Luckily for Taskmaster’s patience, the man relented. That expressionless look was gone too, he noticed. Instead, the man was grinning at him, but not maliciously. Looks like he got over shock quickly. That was… Probably a good thing, right?

“Then it looks like I’m the one in charge of reminding you of your past!” The man chirped, slinging an arm around his shoulder and pulling him into a side hug. 

No, his instincts told him. That wasn’t a good thing.

He tensed in the hold, weighing with himself whether it would be worth it to trust a man he just watched murder a dozen or so people and not seem bothered. He could easily murder him in his sleep if he wasn’t careful and he seemed unhinged enough to do it unprovoked. Why go with this man to recover his memories when he could find it himself?

But then there was the fact that he was hopelessly lost out here, and who knew how the person on the other end of that phone number would react to him calling? If he knew that number off by heart, then that probably meant the person was close to him and calling to tell them he didn’t remember them probably wouldn’t go over well.

The guy was a curious case too and seemed to know at least something about him. Of course, he could easily be lying, but something in his gut was telling him otherwise. The name Taskmaster felt _right._ Besides, there was always the option to kick him in the balls and flee if he had even the slightest suspicion that the guy wasn’t up to snuff. He would be a better match when he wasn’t discombobulated and in the process of accepting his memory loss.

It was a risky gamble, but he’d be lying if he said the thrill wasn’t appealing.

The man relinquished his hold (thankfully with no prodding on Taskmaster’s part), but not before giving him a thump on the back. “I knew you’d agree with me! Now let’s get out of here. We’ve got a lot of ground to cover, and the bugs can be nasty this time of year.”

He may have decided to go through with this, but there was still something bothering him about the situation. As the man started to walk away, Taskmaster reached out and grabbed his arm. “Not so fast.” 

The man turned, tilting his head. “What? Are my guts hanging out?” He looked down at himself as if to check, patting his stomach as he did so. “Everything looks in order to me.”

Okay, this guy was definitely odd. Taskmaster was going to have to get used to that. “No, that’s not what I meant.”

“Then what is it? Are you going to profess your undying love for me? Did you leave the oven on? Did you remember you were supposed to kill the president? That’s happened to me before. Don’t worry, we’ve all been there.” The man paused for a measly half a second, bouncing on the balls of his heels. “Well? Don’t keep me in suspense!”

Odd and _annoying._ Maybe it wasn’t worth it at all.

Doing his best not to let his irritation show in his voice (and failing poorly), he cut off the man before he could continue his nonsensical rant. “I don’t know what your name is.”

Realization dawned in the man’s eyes then. “Oh! Duh, of course you wouldn’t know that.” Just like a rubber band, he snapped to a more serious demeanor as his hand was extended. “Wade W. Wilson, a.k.a. Deadpool, a.k.a. Merc with the Mouth, a.k.a.--” And here he paused again, grinning wolfishly. “--Your new best friend.”

Best friend? Unlikely. He felt himself grimace at the mere thought. But he had come too close to the truth of his existence to turn back now. He hesitantly gripped Wade’s hand and gave it a firm shake, feeling like he had just signed his own death certificate. 

“Don’t worry, you’re in safe hands.” Wade drew a cross over his chest. “Promise. We’re gonna have a lot of fun.”

 _It’s this or the wilderness._ He reminded himself as he followed Wade into the distance, barely keeping up with his babble. _Oddball killer, or being eaten by bears? This is the lesser of two evils. This is the lesser of two evils. This is the lesser of two evils._

“Do you like pancakes? Because I could go for pancakes. You’ll love them, don’t worry.”

God grant him patience, he was going to need it.


End file.
